


and I'm afraid that's just the way the world works

by dumbassbitch



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst and Feels, F/F, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Trauma, Trust Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:20:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28034559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumbassbitch/pseuds/dumbassbitch
Summary: Murphy/Bellamy/Clarke-AU-Oneshots but every chapter is inspired by one of Conan Gray's songs from the album Kid Krow, which you should absolutely listen to if you're gay or angsty or both! (at the end of every chapter, there will be the lyrics for you to read)
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake/John Murphy
Kudos: 8





	1. Heather

John wanted to punch someone.

Punching walls until his knuckles bled just wasn't enough anymore; this time, he needed to punch someone's face. How come you'd only ever want to punch the most beautiful faces? The freckled ones and the ones with porcelain skin? John wished he could punch all of the porcelain girls in the world and shatter them into a million pieces, so that the freckles on Bellamy's face could belong to him again. He wished he could rip out all of the blue eyes in the world, so that his own would be the only pair left and Bellamy would drown in them, believing they were something rare and precious. 

But the truth was, his eyes were the icy kind of blue, the kind of blue that is intriguing at first but gets old as soon as you try to look deeper and only find bitterness instead of love. Love is what lay in Clarke's eyes, the much deeper kind of blue, the kind of blue that swallows you whole and makes you feel warm and dizzy. John hated the way she looked at Bellamy but even more he hated the way he looked at her, his eyes widening at the sight of the most porcelain-skinned, blue-eyed girl there ever was. Clarke was made of superlatives. Top of any class, invited to every party, nice to every other student, even John, and it was hard to hate her. John was usually really fucking good at hating people but, honestly, hating Clarke Griffin was almost impossible. 

Something salty was in his mouth when his phone started ringing. John really meant to decline but when his eyes saw the name on the screen, his hands suddenly took the phone and pressed it against his wet cheek before answering the call. He felt like the most pathetic, desperate boy in the world. But the thing is, as soon as it came to Bellamy, he didn't ever have a choice. Any choice. And he was kind of okay with that. 

"Hey, Murph."

"Don't call me that", John said, and even though it was meant to be flirty or funny or whatever, it came out differently. He bit his lower lip.

"Are you okay? Is everything okay?" 

No, because you look at Griffin like you want to kiss her. "Yeah, of course, I'm good... Um, why'd you call me?"

But the other side of the line went quiet. For a moment. Then there was a sigh, which pissed John off, because he should be the one sighing like that. Bellamy had no right.

"I'm gonna come over, alright?"

Fuck, yes. But also, fuck no. "Wha-", said John. "No, Bell. You can't... right now."

Bellamy chuckled, "Come on, I know it'll cheer you up, Murph."

Cheer him up? That was when John snapped. "The fuck, Bell? I'm not in the mood, okay? Why don't you ask someone else, I don't know, maybe Clarke?" He spat out her name like an old gum that makes you feel sick. "I mean, she's pretty and you're not fucking gay anyways, so just go ahead. Just ask her, I don't give-" That was when Bellamy interrupted him. 

"I'll be over in ten." 

John was stunned for a moment. "I'm not gonna let you in", was the only comeback he could think of. 

But here's the problem: Bellamy knew John wasn't angry enough to not love him anymore, and that he probably never could be. Bellamy also knew that he would sooner or later let him in, which is why he hung up on John. It was always like that. Whenever they fought, it was always just John fighting. Bellamy hadn't ever been angry with him, not the kind of angry where you swear and your body shakes almost as much as your voice does. 

Now he wanted to punch Bellamy so fucking bad, he wanted to make his fucking perfect nose bleed and his dark eyes cry. Cry for him. Why wouldn't Bellamy ever cry for him? Why wouldn't he ever be hurt, too? How come John was always the only one who was hurt in the end? He didn't know. Maybe it was because John was four years younger and a crybaby and an orphan and he had a lot of issues, but maybe it was just because he needed him more than Bellamy needed him. Fucking hell, he really did want to punch him so bad. 

But when he heard the familiar knocking on his window, all of John's violent fantasies were gone and everything that was left was a tired boy with swollen eyes who wanted nothing more, needed nothing more, than someone to touch him. Not even in a sexual way. Just a chest to press his face against until his tears would dry, or a hand to hold until he could breathe properly. Those kind of touches were addictive, especially when it was Bellamy's chest or hand. But no, this time he couldn't give in. He wouldn't. 

"John."

Bellamy. He was standing outside the open window.

"Please let me in."

How many times had he let Bellamy crawl through that window? John quickly wiped his tears away, then faced the window and looked Bellamy dead in the eye. His first instinct was to close the window but then Bellamy would probably try to grab his wrist or some shit.  


"I don't remember inviting you over."

Bellamy hadn't cried, his face was all normal and pretty and he was almost smiling. It was a sad smile, though. "You know I love you, John, so can I please just talk to you?"

"I thought you were gonna fucking cheer me up?" John gave him a challenging look that didn't quite fit his fragile voice. 

"Jesus, if you don't let me in we can have this conversation for the whole street to hear. If that's what you want - I don't care. So, first of all, what is it with Clarke? What was that about?"

Liar. Fucking liar. How dare he act like he didn't know what all of this was about? John didn't want to say it out loud, he couldn't say it to Bellamy's face without crying, that was for sure. 

"John?" Bellamy gave him a pitying look that made him want to throw up. The way Bell would always pity him was unbearable. Everything was blurry, suddenly. For fuck's sake, why couldn't he have at least some self control? John blinked.

"I don't blame you, Bell." But his eyes were too shiny and his voice too bitter for Bellamy to believe him. "Maybe I would fall in love with her, too. Maybe I will." He was grinning and trying not to start sobbing and everything hurt so fucking badly. 

"Cut the crap", said Bellamy but his voice was shaky, just slightly shaky. "You're my boyfriend."

"So? You're not even gay anyways, so don't you feel obligated to anything!" His voice broke. "I'm not fucking stupid, I see the way you look at her - like she is the most precious thing in the world. So why haven't you broken up with me yet? Or, an even better question, why would you ask me to be your boyfriend in the first place? Why would you ever kiss me, Bellamy, if all you're dreaming of is kissing her?"

John was sobbing now and it was all just really ugly. He was scared of Bellamy's answer. He was scared of Bellamy breaking up with him even though that's what he had just suggested. For the first few seconds, the boy outside the window didn't say anything. He didn't cry or shout or anything like that but there was something in his eyes. It was the kind of angry that John never really got used to. He never learned how to handle this kind of angry because all he had ever known was the kind where things would end up broken. He knew broken glass and broken noses and broken wrists. He knew shouting and swearing and angry tears. But this was different. Bellamy didn't seem to want to break anything.

"You do realize that just because I like boys and girls that doesn't mean I... I fall in love with everyone and cheat on you? What don't you get about that?" He took a step back. "Look, I'm not gonna come inside if you don't want me to. I was never gonna do anything you don't want me to do, alright? The thing is - I thought I knew you. I thought we knew each other but now I'm not sure. I trusted you to trust me but apparently you don't and now... I don't know what to do."

Bellamy's words hurt like hell. They both knew that. John also knew that it was true - he didn't and couldn't trust his boyfriend when it came to girls like Clarke. Boys were never a problem because Bellamy had never looked at any boy the way he looked - stared - at Clarke when she walked by. John had this secret theory that Bell was actually straight and he was just an exception. He couldn't get this thought out of his head. It was stuck. The constant fear of Bellamy falling for a girl. It was irrational, he knew that, but now with Clarke it all kind of made sense. John had always been skeptical of being someone's one and only and now he knew why. Because he was never gonna be. 

Everything was just falling into place, it seemed.

____________________________________________________

Heather

I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater  
You said it looked better on me than it did you  
Only if you knew how much I liked you  
But I watch your eyes as she  
Walks by  
What a sight for sore eyes  
Brighter than the blue sky  
She's got you mesmerised while I die  
Why would you ever kiss me?  
I'm not even half as pretty  
You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester  
But you like her better  
Wish I were Heather  
Watch as she stands with her, holding your hand  
Put your arm 'round her shoulder, now I'm getting colder  
But how could I hate her, she's such an angel  
But then again, kinda wish she were dead as she  
Walks by  
What a sight for sore eyes  
Brighter than the blue sky  
She's got you mesmerised while I die  
Why would you ever kiss me?  
I'm not even half as pretty  
You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester  
But you like her better  
I wish I were Heather  
Oh, I wish I were Heather  
Oh, oh, wish I were Heather  
Why would you ever kiss me?  
I'm not even half as pretty  
You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester  
But you like her better  
Wish I were...


	2. Wish You Were Sober

It feels like Russian Roulette, even though John has never played Russian Roulette before. Actually, this is worse. The empty bottle is more intimidating than any gun could ever be. Honestly - being shot in the head doesn't sound so bad in comparison to this stupid game. It's a game for non-virgins and John feels like a secret agent among these people. They're laughing too loud and sitting too close to him and he just knows he's the only one who has never been kissed. He wishes the bottle would just keep spinning forever. It doesn't.

Some girls next to John start giggling and the boys' laughter sounds like wild animals. John can't help but wonder why drunk people find everything so funny. He has been drunk only once and everything was as unfunny as usual. Just like now. There's nothing funny about the bottle pointing at Bellamy Blake.

Bellamy is sitting right across from him, all dark curls and freckles and that idiotic half-smile. Like the Mona Lisa but make it a Highschool man whore. But to be fair, there's so much more to him than this. Bellamy is a fucking cliché, yes, but he's different from his jock friends in a way that John can't describe. Maybe it's because of The Locker Room Incident. Once, in seventh grade, when one of Bellamy's friends called John a faggot, Bellamy stood up for him. Not only did he tell his asshole friend to leave John alone, Bellamy straight up outed himself as bisexual and then - without batting an eye - asked his friend if there was a problem with that. Everyone in the locker room was absolutely baffled. Of course, nobody had a problem with Bellamy not being straight. He was Bellamy Blake, after all. John remembered this as the moment he decided that maybe Bellamy wasn't so bad. He remembered thinking that he was fucking awesome, actually. So back then, this was his personal reason to idolize him and follow him around and shit. Pretty embarrassing.

"Truth or dare?"

John's pulse has slowed down a bit. God, this feels like the reaping in the Hunger Games. Folks, a round of applause for our male tribute, Bellamy Blake! May the odds be ev-

"Dare", says Bellamy.

Oh, of fucking course. His pulse starts speeding up again but then - suddenly - his heart seems to skip a beat. Just for a few seconds, everyone's laughter and chattering is a slur. His eyes have locked with Bellamy's, so by instinct John immediately looks away. But like the savage he is, Bellamy keeps looking right at him, which somehow made the already stuffy air even stuffier. John didn't mean to look at him again but people like Bellamy Blake have eyes like magnets - you can try and try and try but in the end they are gonna pull you in.

"I dare you...", said some boy with a slurred voice.

The noise around him grows louder again and as Bellamy chuckles, still staring, John snorts and looks away again. Fucking hell, this boy. He needs to get out of here, away from Bellamy and his non-virgin jock friends. The reason he joined them in the first place was just to have an excuse to get away from a girl who was trying to make out with him. She was drunk and crying and a complete mess. John doesn't think she would have tried to kiss him if she were sober - either way he wouldn't want to kiss her, though. But instead of just saying he's gay, he agreed to play Spin the Fucking Bottle to get away from her.

"...to kiss Murphy."

John's first instinct is to laugh. In fact, that's his first instinct to almost every situation where he's put in the spotlight and it's about to get ugly. In tenth grade, last year, when a girl in his class - Raven Reyes - threatened to beat the shit out of his "sneaky ass" in front of everyone, he laughed. Just a few weeks ago, when his Biology teacher tried to explain PTSD to the class and then asked John to tell his classmates about his experiences, he laughed. Bellamy doesn't look at him anymore. Technically, John could just stand up and leave. He could just run away and not give a shit about what they think. But here's the thing: You can't actually do that. You don't actually have a choice. Because running away would be like holding up a sign that says "I'M A VIRGIN IN EVERY POSSIBLE WAY". But what other option is there? Just say something funny, he told himself. Can't he just say something witty for once? People do it all the time. They just crack a joke to escape awkward situations. Please, he begged himself, please say something. Other guys would probably just make a homophobic joke or say they're straight or whatever. But none of this would work for John because everyone KNOWS. God, they all know.

"Soooooo?", some stupid bitch giggles. John hates all of them, all of these people who just keep pushing and pushing and pushing each other for their own amusement.

Bellamy is drunk. He can't think straight. There's no other way to explain why he's suddenly smiling in such an awkward situation. "You know, Murphy," he says slowly, "I've always had a thing for you."

Now, this isn't fair. John feels like all of the air has left the room and his brain has stopped functioning. How could he? How could Bellamy make fun of him like this? Act drunk, the voice in his head tells him. Act drunk and let happen whatever will happen, you're drunk and you don't care. But the voice in his head is weak and John is sober and does, in fact, care. But looking into Bellamy's dark eyes, he can't find anything dishonest or mean or sarcastic. The look in his eyes is sober. It doesn't match the rest of Bellamy and it most certainly doesn't match his red lips, wet with alcohol and almost grinning.

"So, tell me, have you ever kissed someone?", Bellamy asks, leaning forward.

Fuck you, he thought. "No, I'm waiting until marriage." Please, please, please buy it.

"That's funny", Bellamy answered without laughing. "So it's possible for us to get married now?"

"Wha-", says John. Then he gets it. Bellamy is talking about gay marriage. "Uh, not yet, but - you know - hope dies last."

Then an absolute miracle happens. They both start laughing. It's a short laugh but John's tension is gone for a moment, even though everyone else is still watching, waiting for the gay kiss to happen.

"But, like, maybe you should just seize the day?", Bellamy tilts his head.

Is he flirting with him? Is he joking? John doesn't have much flirting experience but one thing he knows: It's all about messing with each other and never being completely sure what is meant as a joke and what is not. He hates this, he really does, but he also needs to know how far this can go without getting serious. 

"Maybe I should", John breathes and his voice is so quiet but the words he says are maybe the loudest he's said in a while. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe he should kiss Bellamy. Maybe Bellamy should kiss him. Maybe none of this matters and maybe it does. May-

Bellamy's lips taste bitter. They taste like drunkenness and dishonesty and they taste like seizing the fucking day. They taste like empty words and pretty lies but they taste so good. Kissing a boy - this boy - feels like not giving a shit and John is so here for it.

____________________________________

This party's shit, wish we could dip

Go anywhere but here

Don't take a hit, don't kiss my lips

And please don't drink more beer

I'ma crawl outta the window now

'Cause I don't like anyone around

Kinda hope you're following me out

But this is definitely not my crowd

Nineteen but you act twenty-five now

Knees weak, but you talk pretty proud, wow

Ripped jeans and a cup that you just downed

Take me where the music ain't too loud

Trade drinks, but you don't even know her

Save me 'till the party is over

Kiss me in the seat of your Rover

Real sweet, but I wish you were sober I wish you were sober

(Wish you were so, wish you were so, wish you were sober) I wish you were sober

Tripped down the road, walking home You kissed me at your door

Pulling me close, begging me to stay over

But I'm over this rollercoaster

I'ma crawl outta the window now

Getting good at saying, "gotta bounce"

Honestly you always let me down

And I know we're not just hanging out

Nineteen but you act twenty-five now

Knees weak, but you talk pretty proud, wow

Ripped jeans and a cup that you just downed

Take me where the music ain't too loud

Trade drinks, but you don't even know her

Save me 'till the party is over

Kiss me in the seat of your Rover

Real sweet, but I wish you were sober

I wish you were sober

(Wish you were so, wish you were so, wish you were sober) I wish you were sober

I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish I wish you were sober

I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish I wish you were sober

Nineteen but you act twenty-five now

Knees weak, but you talk pretty proud, wow

Ripped jeans and a cup that you just downed

Take me where the music ain't too loud

Trade drinks, but you don't even know her

Save me 'till the party is over

Kiss me in the seat of your Rover

Real sweet,

but I wish you were sober


End file.
